


alone, you smile at your secret greatness

by girltalk



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Depression, Hitchhiking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girltalk/pseuds/girltalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This book wouldn’t be made possible without spoilt, rich boy Park Jinyoung and the fallacy of happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	alone, you smile at your secret greatness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idolrapper (wonwoo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonwoo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [on sleepless roads](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116650) by [idolrapper (wonwoo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonwoo/pseuds/idolrapper). 



> (the pretentious remix) 
> 
> thank you for such a fantastic and rich source fic recipient (reemy reem~)! i hope you enjoy this. and thank you to [naladot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/naladot) for helping me along the way!
> 
>  **warnings:** mentions of drug use, references to incidents with dubious consent, depression

**FOREWORD  
  
**

Park Jinyoung is the unfortunate byproduct of what occurred when his father, and a woman biology dictates to be his mother, took shelter in an abandoned garage during a thunderstorm. More factually, the garage wasn’t abandoned, but belonged to a temperamental Mr. Kwon who had driven to Seoul a week ago under the guise of “tax business”. Mr. Kwon, despite sharing the same star-sign and tendency towards petty behaviour as Park Jinyoung (as his wife would gladly attest to if you asked about the divorce papers hidden in her underwear drawer), is not actually Park Jinyoung. As such, although he occupies two thirds of this opening paragraph, Mr. Kwon is inconsequential. Thus for the remainder of this story, for all intents and purposes, the garage was abandoned.

Back to Park Jinyoung. He wasn’t actually present in the abandoned garage when he was conceived, nor does he wish he was, nor does he ever want to think about it. He had tried to write about it though, for his novel. But with the blinking cursor trailing the end of his final sentence, somehow the story felt like more of a cliché than it already was.

  

  

  

* * *

  

 

**PROLOGUE**  

Predictably, quitting a job you’ve been groomed to fulfill since you were born is accompanied with a lot less grandiose than the movies would lead you to believe. To compensate for this, there’s a heavy sense of anticipation wrapping itself around Jinyoung’s throat. To alleviate this, Jinyoung takes a detour on the way to work to buy an Americano venti from Starbucks. He clocks in twenty minutes later than he usually does, forty minutes earlier than everybody else. Suji looks up from the receptionist desk, being beautiful as usual, and Jinyoung gives her the paired smile and perfunctory “Hello Suji” she’s used to hearing every morning before handing her his letter of resignation.

“You can’t quit being your father’s son Jinyoung,” Jackson says when Jinyoung drops by his penthouse to retrieve the pair of socks he’d forgotten on his last visit. “And do you seriously only have three pairs of socks, that’s disgusting.”

Jinyoung finds his socks next to Jackson’s coffee machine, balled up with a pair of red lace panties he doesn’t recognise. After a moment’s deliberation, he takes the underwear too, stuffing it into the duffle bag slung over his shoulder. All the while Jackson continues talking, his inherently sensational manner of speaking making Jinyoung’s eyes crinkle as he sleuths a few of Jackson’s protein bars (custom made in Sweden, allegedly) from the fridge.

“Jinyoung, you know I am the biggest believer of pursuing your dreams. But do you honestly have to be so dramatic about it?” Jinyoung turns around to quirk an eyebrow at Jackson. But before he can open his mouth to speak, Jackson raises a finger and squints at him accusingly. “And _I know_ you’re going to say this is hypocritical coming from me! But dramatic is like… Telling your Dad you’re gonna start working at KFC for pocket money. Throwing away your inheritance is just stupid. God, like that kid three years below us Yugyeom did it and…”

Jackson goes on his irrelevant tangent, and Jinyoung listens to every word fondly. It’s a he-said/she-said story, about this kid from high school who’d knocked up his driver’s daughter and got hitched to her in a shotgun wedding when he was eighteen. Jinyoung tries to remember where he was when this was happening. Long out of high school, definitely. In his final year at University, most likely. Sitting in his dorm room writing an essay on “The Moon and Sixpence” for leisure, probably. Or maybe he was already working then. But he likes the idea of University better. He’ll go with that.

Jinyoung drops his duffel bag to the floor and moves closer to where Jackson’s leaning against the kitchen counter, ranting. He can smell the afternoon liquor on Jackson’s breath, and inhales sharply, breathing it in and halting Jackson’s diatribe all at once.

“If you think I’m being self-important then just say so,” Jinyoung says, smiling. Jackson shakes his head, running a hand through his gelled hair and making it stick up at odd angles.

“You’re too important to be self-important,” Jackson admits, and it sounds almost like a confession. If someone asked, and if Jackson was capable of showing embarrassment, then Jinyoung would describe him as embarrassed. But no one asked, and Jackson lost his ability to be embarrassed on Jinyoung’s 19th Birthday Party, when Jinyoung had caught him fingering his cousin in the en suite of his bedroom, and so Jinyoung doesn’t. Instead he fixates on the conflicting feelings of disappointment and gratification that come with being proven right.

Jackson is still in his work clothes, white office shirt ruffled with the first two buttons undone. Jinyoung reaches up to fix Jackson’s collar, but then makes a last minute decision to pull him down and kiss him sweetly on the mouth. He tries to inject some bitterness into it, flavour it with the distinct melancholy of a goodbye. But when he pulls back, the taste on his lips is artificial.

 

 

 

* * *

  

 

**CHAPTER I: REALLY IMPORTANT MEETINGS ARE PLANNED BY THE SOULS LONG BEFORE THE BODIES SEE EACH OTHER**    
  


It takes a month for Jinyoung’s “Eat Pray Love” expedition to be slapped down by the unforgiving hand of the real world.

He’s manhandled into a small bathroom behind a gas station on a rainy night. It’s barely past 12AM when a calloused fist collides into Jinyoung’s left cheek and bursts his bottom lip. Useless at self-defence, Jinyoung throws his phone and wallet behind him, and on the sharp _crack_ of his phone breaking apart on the bathroom floor, bolts out the door and to the convenience store, holding his duffel bag close to his chest as he runs

“I don’t think they’re gonna show up anytime soon,” the store clerk says, three hours later when the police still haven’t arrived. “Do you have anyone to call? I can get you money for a taxi back to Seoul and you can try catching the bus next morning.”

Jinyoung licks his split lip. The blood is tangy and tastes like ink. For a second he entertains the thought of returning home. An hour later he finds himself standing in the rain, thumb stuck out facing the road, in a parka so drenched he’s afraid it might break his back.

The increasing numbness of his thumb is directly proportional to how stupid Jinyoung feels. It’s cold, there’s not a part of Jinyoung that isn’t wet. Every car that comes his way takes care to slow down just as they drive past Jinyoung, considerate enough to make sure he doesn’t miss the way they oggle at him like he’s crazy. Jinyoung always remembers to smile back; then they drive faster.

Two things happen at the same time. There’s a flash in the sky, the crack that accompanies it rips through Jinyoung’s ears. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again he’s squinting into a pair of headlights. For a second he thinks he’s walked into the heart of the storm; that he’s about to be split apart by lightning, or run over, or both simultaneously.

Neither happens. The headlights stop a few meters away from him. The passenger door opens and a young boy climbs out, and just as Jinyoung regains his peripheral vision, he loses it again almost immediately. It’s like he’s been waiting on a half-dead world, and the boy stalking towards him, goofy looking even with half his face shrouded in a hoodie, is the first vital sign of life he’s witnessed.

“Are you okay” the boy asks, voice rougher than Jinyoung expects. It seems to surprise the boy too, because he repeats, with a smile on his face this time. “Are you okay?”

Jinyoung takes a few seconds to respond. “I am,” he answers.

“No you’re not,” the boy replies, moving closer. Jinyoung isn’t paying attention to him anymore though. He’s focused on another guy, a lot tougher looking, broader, stalking towards them and grabbing the boy’s shoulder and pulling him behind his back.

When the big guy opens his mouth, Jinyoung braces himself to hear thunder. Instead it’s deathly quiet, the rain blending into static when the guy speaks. “What happened to you?” It’s curt, blunt, and hammers Jinyoung back down to the ground. He’s a hitchhiker that’s just been fucked over. On a day with the highest level of precipitation this month.¹ In front of him are two strangers who want an answer.

Jinyoung sighs. “I was meant to catch the last bus down to Mokpo-si but I was mugged at the gas station down the road, and they took my phone and wallet. I managed to hold onto the rest of my stuff though. The clerk called the police for me but they never turned up, so I’ve been walking along here for the past hour.”

“Mokpo-si? We’re going to Mokpo-si,” the boy in the hoodie says. His friend pinches the boy’s hip not-at-all discreetly for the comment, making him squeak. Jinyoung hides his laughter. “Aren’t we, hyung?” he finishes anyway.

There’s a tense moment of silence, charged enough that Jinyoung’s afraid of another lightning strike. But eventually the older one concedes. “We are,” he says. “You can come with us, if you’d like…”

“Jinyoung,”² Jinyoung provides, grinning. “My name’s Jinyoung.”³

 

 

 

¹ The day with the highest recorded level of precipitation that month was actually a Wednesday two weeks ago. Jinyoung was in Busan then, staying with an old friend of his from high school called Wonpil. He had spent the last two days preceding that Wednesday holed up in Wonpil’s expensively quaint apartment, surrounded by half-eaten take-out boxes and a full notebook his hands were itching to burn.

He’d decided then that he needed a fresh start, and gritted his teeth against the heavy rain as he wandered out of the apartment towards Haeundae Beach—determined to drown his notebook in the ocean, where the words would disintegrate with the salt and be pulled somewhere far away. With his boots stuck in the wet sand, Jinyoung tugged his notebook out of his bag with pruned pink fingers, only to find it already soaked through, pages like damp tissue, stained black and blue. Being a good citizen, Jinyoung had thrown it in the recycling bin.

 

² The two strangers are called Youngjae and Jaebum. Youngjae is the one in the hoodie, who sneaks glances at Jinyoung like he’s a birthday gift that he’s afraid Jaebum might make him return to the store at any moment. Jaebum is the one that goes through Jinyoung’s duffel bag so thoroughly you’d think it’s his lifelong occupation. He picks up the red laced underwear Jinyoung forgotten was even there, but hides it before Youngjae notices. Jaebum does give Jinyoung a raised eyebrow though, but doesn’t push.

 

³ Jinyoung shares the same name as his father. How’s that for a cliché? For this reason, Jackson would always be sure to yell Jinyoung’s full name in bed. His commitment to giving Jinyoung deep-rooted daddy issues increased the scope of what weirdness Jackson could tolerate for the sake of an orgasm.

  

 

 

* * *

  

 

**CHAPTER II: SUPPOSE YOU MET SOMEBODY JUST AS CARELESS AS YOURSELF  
  
**

“You like reading?” Jaebum asks, the first semi-open question⁴ he’s asked since Jinyoung’s woken up.

“I’m a writer,” Jinyoung answers easily, he’d told Jaebum this before. “And that makes me a reader as well.” Outside, the rain has settled into a shower, a gentle lullaby for Youngjae who’d fallen asleep in the front seat. His neck is bent at an off angle, eyelashes quivering like a breeze was blowing against them.⁵

“Your copy of Catcher in the Rye is falling apart at the edges.” Jinyoung jerks his head up. Jaebum is staring lazily out at the road, steering with one hand. He uses his other hand to fiddle with the rearview mirror, making eye contact with Jinyoung through the reflection. “I hate that book,” he says, and Jinyoung can read the satisfied smirk in his eyes.

“Oh?” Jinyoung straightens up in his seat, knitting his arms across his chest and smiling. “Why?”

“Several reasons,” Jaebum says, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “Have you ever felt like you were going through excruciating pain, but you put up with it because you think it’s all part of the process and eventually it’ll be worth it, but then you come out the other end and you realise that it’s not. Worth it that is. Not at all.”⁶

Jinyoung barks out a laugh. “You know my professors at college would have loved you. Students that have wrong opinions are their favourites.”

Jaebum snorts and shakes his head. “It was banal. What do you even like about it. Nothing happens.”

“Nothing happens?” Jinyoung repeats, bewildered. They’re both getting a kick out of this, Jinyoung can tell. He doesn’t know what Jaebum does for a living, but he wonders if he’s writing his own book. One in his head, and if he’ll have a chapter dedicated to just Jinyoung—or if Jinyoung will appear only as an anecdote, a passing name in an unnecessarily elaborate stream of internal monologue. Jaebum seems like the type to have a lot of those.

“I like it for the exact opposite reasons,” Jinyoung explains. “Everything happens. Here’s this kid who flunked out of a prestigious boarding school, takes a train to New York, and suddenly _everything_ happens to him.” Jaebum has his lips pressed thin, cheeks blown up like he’s holding back a laugh. Jinyoung can’t help but take the bait, he leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, and declares with as much awe he can muster, “Holden Caulfield was a _hero_.”

That does it. Jaebum’s mouth falls open and he barks out a loud, unapologetic laugh. “I think he was an asshole.”

“He was a teenager!”

“They’re not mutually exclusive!”⁷

Youngjae is awake now, studying Jinyoung through sleep-heavy eyes. More than anything else, that look goads Jinyoung on, and very carefully, with a precision born from the hyper-awareness that someone’s watching, he aims. “We were all like that. I'd bet everything I’ve got that you were exactly like him, Jaebum-ssi.”

That does it. Jinyoung’s twisted the faucet all the way to it’s dead end. “I am _nothing_ like him!” Jaebum exclaims, indignant. “I let your soggy self into my car, my home, and you imply I’m an arrogant dickhead? Holden Caulfield wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t—”

Youngjae meets Jinyoung’s eyes. _’What are you talking about?’_ he mouths. “Holden Caulfield,” Jinyoung whispers back. Youngjae nods, but Jinyoung can tell he still doesn’t understand the central point of the discussion. He seems charmed all the same though, by the concept, or by Jinyoung himself, he’s not sure.

 

 

 

⁴ Other questions prior to this include, _“Where do you live?”_ , _”What do you do for a living?”_ , and _“What’s the price of gas in Mokpo-si.”_ It felt like an interrogation, but Jinyoung had the suspicion that it was just Jaebum trying to make small talk but not being particularly good at it. His suspicions are confirmed correct when they’re sitting at a rest stop later, and over a bowl of _jjambbong_ Jaebum and Youngjae actually do interrogate him. Or whatever the the polite equivalent is.

Jaebum doesn’t ask Jinyoung about the underwear he found in the duffel bag. However, he does ask him, _“Where did you work?”_ , when Jinyoung mentions quitting his job last month. Jinyoung stutters out _’Park Enterprises’_ , and holds his breath when Jaebum mentions having corresponded with them a few times. In exchange, Jinyoung gathers some information of his own. Youngjae is a music therapist, he’s on his way to sing at his sister’s wedding. His sister thinks Youngjae should have become an idol, no one else agreed. Jinyoung thinks it’s a shame, he’d have been a fan.

 

⁵ Youngjae has beautiful eyelashes. Jinyoung is sure Jaebum appreciates that about him intimately. Jinyoung had woken up from his nap with a hazy image. Hands interlocked over the gearshift; a muffled, broken exchange, that sounded like it was recorded in the fifties and remastered crudely. _“I don’t know how to say what I want to. I love you, okay?”_. Jinyoung can’t discern it from a memory or a dream. If it’s a dream, it’s a pretty shitty one.

 

⁶ Sometimes, Jinyoung is afraid that this is his whole life.

 

⁷ Unsurprisingly, Jaebum is wrong. Assholery and adolescence are in fact mutually exclusive. As a teenager, Jinyoung used to avoid telling his classmates what his father’s job was. It wasn’t insecurity, it just wasn’t information he wanted to share. His deskmate, Hyerim, was the heiress to a large hotel chain and Jackson had told Jinyoung she’d let Brian snort cocaine off her stomach at a party once. Jinyoung was the heir to a large shipping business and read a lot of books. Jackson had told the entire class this as well, and Jinyoung didn’t talk to him for a week after. 

  

 

 

* * *

  

 

**CHAPTER III: INTUITION IS REALLY A SUDDEN IMMERSION OF THE SOUL INTO THE UNIVERSAL CURRENT OF LIFE  
  
**

“I think your problem is lack of emotion,” Jinyoung says. “Not that you haven’t got any, but I want you to make me cry. Metaphorically, of course,” he adds when Youngjae ducks his head to smile.

From the backseat Jaebum snores, an indelicate sound that has Jinyoung curling his hands into fists so he doesn’t turn around and tickle Jaebum’s philtrum. In another timeline he might. But Youngjae looks stressed, forehead pinched together in utmost focus, and for lack of care of anything else, Jinyoung doesn’t want to break that concentration.

“You’re right,” Youngjae agrees. “Let’s go again?”

Jinyoung plays the instrumental from Youngjae’s phone. Youngjae begins singing, his voice subdued and practiced, so practiced. He cuts himself off, audibly frustrated when he goes, “This might work better if I wasn’t driving.”

Jinyoung raises a fist to give the crown of Youngjae’s head a noogie, flashing his teeth at the yelp he elicits. “Use your brain, multitask,”

“I just don’t think—”

“ _Think_ ,” Jinyoung presses. It matters to him that Youngjae gets this right.⁸ Suddenly he feels the pressure acutely, a burden materialising out of thin air and settling itself on Jinyoung’s shoulders. “Think about someone you love,” he says. The hunch he’s had this entire time has him glancing at Jaebum through the rear-view mirror. When he looks back, Youngjae’s face has gone pale.

“You know,” Youngjae states, throat bobbing.⁹

“It wasn’t difficult to piece together.” Jinyoung laughs sheepishly. Youngjae’s adorable. The cutest thing Jinyoung’s seen. “I think I heard you talking, last night? I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I thought I dreamt it all, it was so dark.”

“Maybe you did dream it,” Youngjae teases, but there’s something else there. Uncertainty.

“Maybe,” Jinyoung humours him, grinning. “But you didn’t deny it.”

There’s a pause, and then Youngjae groans. With it, he seems to expel his concerns. “Do you always have to be right?”¹⁰

“Glad you caught on.”

“Fine,” Youngjae concedes. He puffs up his chest, looking proud. “He’s my man.”

“Now we’ve established that, you love him, right?” Jinyoung asks. He twists around to look behind him, giving himself a full view of Jaebum sleeping with his cheek squished against the seat, mouth open so Jinyoung can see a peek of yellowed teeth. He turns towards Youngjae, and finds him gazing at the rear-view mirror, staring at Jaebum in a way that essentially renders his next words redundant.

“I do.”

“Okay,” Jinyoung says, feeling discomfited, the ever-present hollowness¹¹ in his chest having instantaneously developed a fourth dimension. “Might’ve been awkward if you said no.” Might have made for an interesting story too. The instrumental starts up again. “Sing Youngjae,” he demands.

 

 

 

⁸ Youngjae never does get it right. It takes another five renditions for Jinyoung to acquiesce that the problem won’t be fixed in a day, especially not when Youngjae’s on edge and keeps mistaking oddly shaped rocks on the road for cats that’ve been run over. They start singing obnoxiously to trashy idol music instead, and it’s when they’re in the middle of belting out the high note in _Rough_ that the car protests and sputters to an untimely death on the highway.

“It’s nothing major,” Jaebum insists, with the ego of someone who believes that there exists no automobile that can’t be repaired with the right masculine touch. Jinyoung’s never had a chance to internalise the same ideology, having been driven around by a chauffeur for most of his life. He unintentionally lets this small fact slip out, which results in Jaebum narrowing his eyes at Jinyoung like he’s a rigged carnival game. _”Who are you?”_ he asks. There’s no way for Jinyoung to backtrack, so he shrugs and tries to come off unconcerned when he replies, _“Park Jinyoung.”_ Jaebum doesn’t question further, but is visibly unsatisfied.

The car ends up getting towed, not due back until noon the next day. They endure the walk to the nearest hotel under a sheath of grey clouds, Youngjae talking enthusiastically the entire time. He talks about his job mostly, and Jinyoung watches the shapes his mouth forms and wonders why he can’t manage to sing the same way.

 

⁹ Youngjae wouldn’t have the same prudent reaction if he knew about the semester Jinyoung spent batting his eyelashes at the captain of his high school’s baseball team. The subtle flirtations had gone on until he’d grabbed Jinyoung’s hair and pushed him down to his knees, letting Jinyoung give him a blowjob in the male locker room. Jinyoung had secretly recorded the entire thing, needing the reference for a short story submission. Years later he’d made Jackson watch the recording while his oblivious girlfriend Youngji was in the same room. That was also for reference, but not for a short story.

 

¹⁰ He does. It’s a bad habit.

 

¹¹ Hollowness is an inaccurate layman’s term Jinyoung uses to be concise, because the dictionary hasn’t added a better one to describe the unmovable ache within him.

 

  

 

* * *

 

 

**CHAPTER IV: I WONDER WHAT ANTS DO ON RAINY DAYS?  
  
**

“My body temperatures probably out of whack by now,” Jinyoung groans, towel drying his hair as he leaves the bathroom. “As indecisive as a shower as they come, I’m telling you.”

Youngjae presses himself up against his back, resting his head on Jinyoung’s shoulders and encircling his arms around him with a docile laziness. The heat Youngjae emits feels like a salve on Jinyoung’s body, but instead of leaning into it, Jinyoung watches Jaebum for a reaction.

Jaebum’s the possessive type, anyone with a third grade reading level can infer that much. But the Jaebum standing in front of him is placid. Tired only from the long day and frowning mildly, like the biggest disruption Jinyoung’s brought into his life is news of the dysfunctional showerhead. “We’ll keep that in mind,” Jaebum says.

“That sucks hyung,” Youngjae says simultaneously, still slumped against Jinyoung’s back.

“Thanks Youngjae.” Jinyoung breathes out a small laugh, tapping Youngjae’s arm to get him to let go.

Youngjae peels himself off Jinyoung and grabs his towel, wrapping it around his neck like a cape as he marches towards the bathroom. “Hurry up, Jaebum-ie!” he exclaims, the child-like promise of an adventure hanging unsaid at the end.¹² Jinyoung swipes a hand over his mouth to try and hide his smirk.

“What’s up with him,” Jaebum grumbles, shaking his head as he strides past Jinyoung. Jinyoung shrugs and flops down onto the bed, his back making contact with the mattress in time with the bathroom door clicking shut.

The muffled sound of the shower pounds harder against Jinyoung’s eardrums than the storm gusting outside. He closes his eyes, breathes rhythmically until he can’t tell the two noises apart. Water beating down on the ground. Water pooling in the cracks of Jaebum’s fist as he jerks Youngjae off. Water falling separately, coming together on bodies born from the earth. Park Jinyoung face down on a dusty mattress, skin out to dry in the stale air of the room.

He should call Jackson, Jinyoung thinks idly. From there he ambles into another thought, that he should talk to his father again. Thank Wonpil for letting him crash in Busan even though Jinyoung’s given him nothing but radio silence since high school. Apologise to Suji for never participating in the Office Secret Santas she organised. One after another, Jinyoung slips through his thoughts, no longer in control, tendrils of sleep curling around him and tugging gently.

He jolts awake when he feels someone shaking his shoulder. Jinyoung sits up, lifting a hand to overlap the one squeezing his arm. He blinks, turns his head to see Jaebum staring down at him contemplatively; naked apart from the towel wrapped around his waist, hair wet and falling across his forehead in a way Jinyoung can only describe as soft. Despite the distraction Jaebum provides, somehow Jinyoung manages to register the sound of the shower still running in the background.

Jinyoung doesn’t bother with modesty and lets his eyes trail down Jaebum’s torso, takes note of how the skin on the stomach is softer than he’d expected. He wants to pinch it between his fingers, but a crack of thunder pierces through the suspension of time he’d created, and Jinyoung leans back on his hands, looking up to meet Jaebum’s eyes once again.

“You’re attracted to Youngjae,” Jaebum states, without any preamble. “I know you are. I see the way you look at him.”

There’s only so many appropriate ways to respond to an accusation like that. Still, _“I like both of you”_ probably wouldn’t even make the most lax of short-lists. But this is Jinyoung’s honest answer. “I like both of you,” he repeats. “In different ways.”

At this, Jaebum laughs, incredulous. “You hardly know us,” he says.

“And yet, you’re the one standing in front of me in nothing but a towel and half an erection,” Jinyoung says, crossing his arms. “What do you want Jaebum?” Except, Jinyoung’s stomach stirs with thick, molten desire, and he _knows_ what Jaebum wants. After all, Jinyoung’s directed it all hasn’t he? Driven the three of them up to this cliff where the choices are either they all jump, or they stand toeing the edge of the precipice forever.

“Nothing good.” Jaebum pushes his fringe away from his forehead. “God, how many times have you done this?”

Jinyoung furrows his eyebrows. “Done what?”

Jaebum waves his arms, making his towel slip down a little, the loose knot he’d tied in front lining up with centre of his pelvis. “Fuck people on your journey of self-discovery. Do you keep souvenirs? Is this towel going to end up next to that underwear in your bag.”

“ _What?_ ” Jinyoung says. Then, it hits him, and he snorts to conceal the satisfaction bubbling underneath. “I don’t know whose those are.” At the slightly judgemental look on Jaebum’s face, Jinyoung amends. “I mean, I just picked it up from my friends apartment right before I left. It’s not his though.”¹³

Jaebum’s upper lip curls up and he takes a step back. “ _Why?_ ”

“Because…” Jinyoung starts slowly. “I was hoping that one day, someone would find it and think, ‘How the hell did that get in there?’”

It takes a while for Jaebum to absorb this. He looks out the window where the storm rages on, face contorted as he tries to process everything Jinyoung’s said. _’Don’t think too hard’_ Jinyoung wants to tell him. _’That’s not your job._

“And I’m that someone, am I right?” Jaebum says. For some reason, this is incredibly funny to Jinyoung, and he has to suck down on his lower lip to stop himself from laughing. He doesn’t know why he bothers though, because Jaebum mirrors him, pursing his lips into a tiny smile and hollowing his cheeks. In this cold, small, hotel room, neither of them need to make a sound for their thoughts to be laid bare. This is fucked up. This is insane. This doesn’t make sense but they want it with their whole beings.

Jaebum clears his throat. “I told Youngjae not to touch himself,” he begins, but Jinyoung’s already up from the bed and walking towards the bathroom. Jaebum grabs his wrist, not rough but gentle, a plea that thrills Jinyoung all the same.

However, as with most people, it’s the words that leave Jaebum’s mouth that count. “Don’t touch him until I’m there as well,” he warns, voice low and dangerous.

Jinyoung pulls his hands away. He thinks about Youngjae still in the shower—alone, ashamed, aching—and decides to tell Jaebum the truth.

“I’ll see where it takes me.”¹⁴

 

 

 

¹² Youngjae reminds Jinyoung of the protagonists in the Young Adult books he loved so much as a child. The boys who grew up in the bleakest of circumstance, and were made up of the just the right balance of cynicism and cheerfulness to not come across as one dimensional. Jinyoung used to want to be like them. To be the kind of person who could have bad things happen to them and be able to see the depth of goodness in anything as a result.

 

¹³ Jinyoung has a list of candidates of whose underwear it could be:

  1. Bae Suji. Jinyoung dated her for three months and Jackson always seemed a little jealous of the both of them.
  2. Heo Youngji. Jackson’s on and off girlfriend since freshman year of college. Last year she’d made it explicitly clear to Jackson that she never wanted to see him again unless he cut out all the toxicity from his life. She had said this while staring pointedly at a flask of whisky in Jackson’s hand, and then once Jackson began drinking from said flask of whisky, refocused that stare onto Jinyoung.
  3. Kim Namjoon. An underground rapper who had dumped Jackson because he didn’t want an affluent significant other ruining his credibility. He was calm but unpredictable and mature but eccentric and Jinyoung had never liked him.



 

¹⁴ This is where it takes him: a wet hand on Youngjae’s hip, the shower spraying icy water that does nothing to ease the heat building between them. Jinyoung crowds Youngjae back against the tiles, so he looks smaller, so Jinyoung faces the brunt of the cold water instead. “ _Hyung_ ,” Youngjae whines, broken and begging. “Kiss me.”

And to Jinyoung’s credit, he does hear Jaebum’s voice in his head. Loud and clear. _’Don’t touch him.’_ His eyes flicker down to Youngjae’s mouth, wide and pink, parted and waiting. _’Until I’m there.’_ And he tilts Youngjae’s head back so that it knocks against the tiles, and offers his version of an apology as a small nip to his lower lip.

   

 

 

* * *

 

 

**CHAPTER V: LIBERATE YOURSELF FROM MY VICE-LIKE GRIP  
  
**

The final hours pass like the last days of summer; no discussion of the nearing end, only a silent consensus to make the most of what’s left without trying too hard. Somewhere along the way they end up in an impromptu three-way in the backseat of the car. Jinyoung initiates it, massages Youngjae's calves, works him down, and then unzips his pants while Jaebum drives, prattling away in the front seat about how Snape was an entitled jerk (Jinyoung had provoked him, by purposefully crooning that Snape was a _romantic_ ).

Jinyoung keeps a hand over Youngjae’s mouth the entire time, but Youngjae lets out a high pitched moan once he’s on the edge of his orgasm. Predictably this has Jaebum pulling over on the highway and clambering into the backseat. He’s the least graceful one in the ungraceful setup, and he comes last too, with Youngjae jerking him off and Jinyoung fucking into him, like they’re working together to console Jaebum for even thinking about leaving him out. When Jaebum’s done he rests his head on Jinyoung’s chest, breathing heavily.

“How did we ever find you?” Jaebum says. The outside world rumbles, Jaebum sounds the happiest he’s ever been with Jinyoung.¹⁵

When they drive into Mokpo the car falls quiet. Not a word uttered, no touches shared, as if they can’t afford to expend anymore sentimentality on such an inevitable and miserable goodbye. Jinyoung can see his aunt’s two story house from the backseat window. As expected of his aunt, the front lawn is kept neat; and the large, luscious oak tree that once held a treehouse Jinyoung would play in with his cousin, is stripped bare for the winter. In the dark it’s leafless branches claw over the garden, lying in wait.

Youngjae and Jaebum walk Jinyoung up to the front porch. His aunt answers on the first ring of the doorbell. She wraps Jinyoung in a clumsy hug, and when he breaths in, the scent of home smells like it’s coming from a burning incense.

“And oh, are these the kind men who drove you here,” his aunt says, finally taking notice of Jaebum and Youngjae standing awkwardly behind Jinyoung. “Sorry, your names I…”

Jinyoung opens his mouth to answer but Jaebum beats him to it. “Im Jaebum,” he says, bowing slightly. From next to him, Youngjae does the same.

“Choi Youngjae.”

“Nice to meet you Jaebum-ssi, Youngjae-ssi. Would you like to come in for some tea?”

“We would love to but we’re very short on time,” Jaebum declines, with a hand on his chest. “Thank you so much for the offer though.”

His aunt retreats back into the house and Jinyoung lingers outside, waiting until she disappears from view.

There’s a certain type of night that only exists within suburbs like this one. Where the sky is never too black, the air after the rain is fragrant, and the streets are so still it’s easy to believe the entire world's been hushed to put you to sleep. When he turns to look at Yongjae and Jaebum, that night blows a gentle chill up Jinyoung’s arm, and lets him know that he’s tainted it.

“I had fun, thank you,” Jinyoung says.

Jaebum shakes his head. “It’s no big—”

“ _Really_ ,” Jinyoung insists. “Thank you. For not cutting me into pieces and stuffing me in your trunk."

Youngjae laughs but Jaebum isn’t impressed. “Funny,” he deadpans, lips thinning. Jinyoung wants to call him out on it, lure him into an argument just to prove that he can, but then Youngjae is stepping forward. He captures Jinyoung’s mouth in a hard kiss, hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders so tightly that his fingers dig into Jinyoung’s skin. Without meaning to Jinyoung closes his eyes. This kiss feels different, it feels proper.

Jinyoung swallows and pulls away from Youngjae’s grip. “See you later, hyung,” Youngjae says once Jinyoung has him at an arm’s length.

In a moment of impaired judgement, Jinyoung bends down to kiss his cheek. “See you, Youngjae.”

Jinyoung watches them walk back to the car. Right before they drive off Jaebum rolls down his window, sticks his head out and yells, “Write about me!”

“I will!” Jinyoung calls back.

He watches the car until it takes a left turn out of his view. Then he stands there on the porch for ten more minutes before going inside.

 

 

 

¹⁵ Technically this isn’t true. The happiest Jinyoung’s ever seen Jaebum was the morning after the three of them slept together. Sitting on a rusty picnic table on the outskirts of the motel, warm in Youngjae’s hoodie, Jinyoung had engaged Jaebum in their third iteration of the argument: “Was Holden Caulfield an Asshole Or Not.” The fact they’d had sex only a few hours ago meant as little to Jaebum as it did to Jinyoung.

Eventually, Youngjae had found them, puttering over and plopping himself onto Jaebum’s lap. He looked soft and worn, and Jinyoung had to hold onto the hot mug of coffee in his hands to stop himself from leaning over and kissing Youngjae’s eyelids. “What are you talking about?” Youngjae had asked, nuzzling into Jaebum’s neck.

“I was just telling Jaebum here," Jinyoung answered, turning his nose at Jaebum and trying to restrain his bitterness. "That the world can be split into two people: those who like Holden Caulfield and those who don't. Alternatively, those who identify with Holden Caulfield and those who don't."

“The _entire_ world? That’s way too broad,” Jaebum said. Jinyoung watched his hand smooth it’s way down Youngjae’s back. “Let me guess, you identify with him?”

There was something in Jaebum’s tone that Jinyoung recognised, although it sounded unfamiliar coming from a mouth that wasn’t his own. Somehow, Jaebum had trapped him into playing a game of Cat’s Cradle, and it was Jinyoung’s turn to pull the strings. “Well,” he started carefully. “Yeah, I mean, I’m on a journey—”

"I've got you all figured out, Park Jinyoung," Jaebum cut him off. Jinyoung froze. Youngjae looked alarmed, but Jaebum paid neither of them any mind. A smile grew on his face, the first sincere one Jaebum had given Jinyoung this entire trip. Probably the most sincere one Jaebum’s worn in his entire life.

“A spoilt, rich boy, son to Park Jinyoung Sr. and heir to Park Enterprises, I'm guessing?" Jinyoung’s jaw dropped and Jaebum’s grin sharpened. "You didn't want to take over the company. You wanted to write. So, you gave it all up, maybe gave them an ultimatum, and left your ivory tower to go on your little spiritual journey."

Jaebum hadn’t gotten it completely right. But he’d said enough for Jinyoung to be able to determine one thing with absolute certainty—that Jaebum was just as cruel as Jinyoung was. Maybe he was better at hiding it, but in the handful of hours they’d spent together, Jinyoung could tell there was something simmering beneath Jaebum’s skin. That morning it had finally shown itself: a gratuitous, self-serving desire to know that people are exactly the way you want to them to be.

And that is why the moment hadn’t counted as the happiest Jinyoung’s ever seen Jaebum. Because Jinyoung shares precisely the same trait, and in his twenty-three years of living the constant truth about Jinyoung is that he’s never been happy.

"It's admirable really," Jaebum finished, after a fraught silence. He took a sip of his coffee. "I still think he's an asshole, though."

   

 

 

* * *

 

  

**EPILOGUE  
  
**

“So the prodigal son finally calls!” Jackson announces when he picks up the phone. “When did you get to Mokpo-si?”

“Yesterday,” Jinyoung replies. He sits on an arm chair in his aunt’s guest bedroom, facing the window where the treehouse-less oak tree looms over the garden. He wouldn’t be able to fit in the treehouse now, but he yearns for it all the same. Wishes his cousin hadn’t demanded that her father take it down, because on the eve of her 22nd birthday she’d decided that she hated Jinyoung and everything that reminded her of him. “Missed the bus so I had to hitch a ride here.”

“You _hitch-hiked_?” Jackson says, disbelieving. “You could have just called me. I’m in Mokpo-si right now.”

It’s then that Jinyoung becomes aware of the disruptive background noise coming from Jackson’s end of the phone. He hears faint music and a stream of constant chatter. “Where are you?” he asks.

“I’m at this wedding with Youngji, her friend from high school is getting married.”¹⁶

Jinyoung hums in appreciation. “So _that’s_ who the underwear belonged to.”

“What? What are you talking about? I don’t—Sorry, I wasn’t—Hold on a minute.” There’s shuffling, something heavy being slammed shut, and when Jackson speaks again his voice exists in isolation. “Okay, I’m outside now. Youngji doesn’t like me talking to you.”

“Come over and we can fuck on her childhood bed,” Jinyoung jokes.

Jackson snorts. “Don’t talk about your cousin that way, Jinyoung.”

“How’s the wedding anyway?” Jinyoung asks, then shudders. “God, can you imagine us getting married.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Jackson answers cautiously. “I can imagine myself getting married.”

Jinyoung squints. “What’s with that tone?”

“Nothing!” Jackson says defensively. “I just wasn’t sure what you meant like… What, can I imagine the two of us getting married? To each other? I mean, the answer is no because of backward marriage laws, but also I can’t imagine us. Together. In general.”

Jinyoung doesn’t talk for a few seconds, not really offended, but taken aback at the sudden confession. He slowly looks down at the closed notebook in his lap. He flicks through it’s blank pages. “Why not?”

It’s apparent that Jackson hadn’t expected Jinyoung to engage in this line of conversation. “You’re asking me? For a answer you already know?”

“I want to know what you think.”

“I think…” There’s a crackle through the speaker. “I think I love you, but I’m not enough for you Jinyoung. Nobody is. You literally hate that you live in this world. And you fuck around with your life and everyone else’s trying to make it more meaningful to you. But Jinyoung, I’m a part of this world. I’m nothing more than the person that I am. And honestly, maybe that’s the problem. You see everyone as just being part of the world that you hate that you exist in.”

When Jinyoung tries speaking, it’s like his tongue has turned to cotton. “Continue,” he says, swallowing at the end.

“No.” Jackson says quicky. “Shit, you’re upset. I’m sorry, Jinyoung.”

“I’m not,” Jinyoung insists. He clears his throat. “Really. This is enlightening.”

Jackson is hesitant, but after Jinyoung makes a sound urging him on, he proceeds with more mindfulness. “You know, I think you try so hard to be like that kid in _The Catcher In the Rye_ —”

“Don’t.” Jinyoung closes his eyes. “I hate that book.”

“I know you do,” Jackson says fondly. “Stop spite reading it.”

Jinyoung tries to laugh, but it comes out garbled. His eyes are beginning to burn and he presses the heels of his hands against them to null the pain. He listens to the sound of Jackson’s breathing, waits for the tightness in his chest to loosen before he says, “I met someone.”

“Oh.” Jackson sounds surprised. “Uh… Tell me about them.”

“I met two someones,” Jinyoung says. Jackson laughs and mutters quietly _’of course you did’_. “They’re the ones who gave me a ride here.”

“How are they? Are you a homewrecker? Where are they now?”

“No, they’re still very much in love,” Jinyoung says. “It’s two guys. The older one is an asshole, the younger one is sweet. They dropped me off and left.”

“They _left_!” Jackson exclaims. “Are they going to come back?”

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung lies.

Jackson scoffs. “Please, of course you know. They’ll be back,” Jackson assures him. “They won’t be able to stop thinking about you, Park Jinyoung. I guess the real question is, do you like them?”

The first thing Jinyoung had done after unpacking last night was place a pen onto paper and write. He’d thought about Youngjae’s good-nature, his singing that was always a few notches away from perfect and gave Jinyoung an itch. He’d thought about Jaebum, repressing a thousand emotions all at once and feeding them to Jinyoung one by one. He’d pulled his pen away from the paper after two hours and came face-to-face with an empty page.

“I like them,” Jinyoung admits. “But is that enough?”

Jackson’s answer is what Jinyoung expects. “Probably not.”

 

 

 

¹⁶ Jinyoung does briefly ponder the chances of two weddings occurring on the same day, at the same time, in a town of two-hundred and fifty-thousand. He’s then distracted by thought of what a poor season it is to host not just one wedding, but two.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**AFTERWORD  
  
**

Park Jinyoung is a novelist. His father, Park Jinyoung Sr., is owner of a million dollar shipping business. Park Jinyoung Jr. knows nothing about his mother, besides the fact she was married to a prideful Mr. Kwon, who had bribed her into cutting off all connections to her illegitimate son in fear of it smearing his good name. It’s a clichéd story of a sad child and Park Jinyoung feels no affinity towards it. Even if he had a mother, he’d only pine for her absence. He was born rich, but he lives like he’s poor. If he was born poor, he’d want to be rich. If he was a Prince, he’d wish to be a God. And if he was a God, he’d regard this tiny world and say _’fuck it’_ , casting the Earth and himself into a void.

But Park Jinyoung is not a God. Park Jinyoung sits in a rocking chair on the front porch of his aunt’s house in Mokpo. In his hands is a notebook that’s intended to hold the first draft of his novel, but instead bears pen scratches and a pristinely circular coffee stain. He’s chewing on the tip of a pen, staring at this stain, when there’s a loud honk from the street.

A car comes slowly to a stop in front of him. A window rolls down, and a young boy by the name of Choi Youngjae beams at Jinyoung. “Hey cutie!” he hollers, to the irritation of the noise-sensitive grandmother who’s watering her flowers across the street. “Do you need a ride?”

 

  

 

 

* * *

  

**ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS  
  
**

This book wouldn’t be made possible without spoilt, rich boy Park Jinyoung and the fallacy of happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> chapter titles are all taken from books jinyoung has [read in real life](http://pann-choa.blogspot.com.au/2016/02/instiz-list-of-books-idol-has-read-and.html)!
> 
> 1\. eleven minutes - paulo coelho  
> 2\. the great gatsby - f. scott fitzgerald  
> 3\. the alchemist - paulo coelho  
> 4\. norwegian wood - haruki murakami  
> 5\. the catcher in the rye - j.d salinger  
>   
> and the title of this fic was taken from "the magicians" by lev grossman. i was reading it in the beginning stages of planning this fic and it ended up having a lot of influence over the direction i chose to take this remix.


End file.
